


there are things that drift away

by Moonliel



Category: House M.D.
Genre: AU ending of "Wilson's Heart", AU ending of 4x16, Alternate Ending, Amber still dies, Angst and Feels, Crying, F/M, Forgiveness, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Introspection, Mild Language, Mostly Gen, Other, POV James Wilson (House M.D.), Possibly Pre-Slash, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25761766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonliel/pseuds/Moonliel
Summary: AU ending of 04x16 "Wilson's Heart" - where Amber still dies, but Wilson and House will be okay
Relationships: Amber Volakis/James Wilson, Greg House & James Wilson, Greg House/James Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	there are things that drift away

**Author's Note:**

> I don't mind the way the writers took on Season 05, but I still wished for an ending like this for Wilson and House, bc I think that Wilson really would have realized what it meant for House to go through with the deep brain stimulation procedure. If it wasn't a declaration of love and friendship I don't know what else House would have to do (oh right, maybe have himself declared legally dead would do it? lol)
> 
> P.S. this is my first time delving into writing for this fandom & characters, so any constructive criticism or reviews are welcome
> 
> Title from ending song of 4x16 "Passing Afternoon" by Iron & Wine

* * *

Wilson felt raw in a way he's never felt before. He thought that after years of being an Oncologist it would be easier to see people die, to tell them they were going to die, but it never really got easier.

He thought the amount of pain when he lost Danny to the streets and his schizophrenia was as raw as he could ever feel. The feeling of loss when he found out his brother had ran away from school was like a sharp stab into his heart. It had left him wounded, angry, scared, and it filled him with such a sense of disappointment in himself that he never truly got over it.

Over the years without word from Danny, without his parents or other brother acknowledging that Danny even _existed,_ left Wilson feeling worse than before.

However, all that could still not begin to make up for what he felt in this very moment.

Amber - beautiful, lively - was laying dead next to him and there had been nothing he could have done. Her death was unprecedented, incomprehensible, and it left him entirely open and _raw_. He ran his hand through her soft blonde hair and stared at her closed eyes. Her chest was no longer moving, all the machines in the room quieted and somber.  
  
He thought about everything that happened in the last few days and his heart felt near bursting. Everything with House left him feeling much more than any normal thing would. It was as if anything connected with House always had to be grander, more explicit, more extraordinary than normal problems people usually faced. His friend had always had issues, some more serious than others, but Wilson had always been able to help him through it, had been able to steer him to less self-destructive tendencies. Yet somehow this was different.

He left Amber. There wasn't much more he could do here anyway. He had contacted her parents once the diagnosis was confirmed, not wanting to deal with hysterical family members atop his own grief. They were in Europe currently, a second honeymoon or so they claimed. It would take them hours yet until they arrived, but Wilson was counting on that. He was not up to talking with them yet. They would probably hate him. Most people did after their lives were somehow ruined by his friendship with House, even if Wilson really didn't see it that way. House was easy for people to hate and Wilson had probably used his friend as a social buffer more than once because of it.

Amber's parents had already started the funeral arrangements - they had a plot already pre-picked for their family. It sounded morbid the first time Amber told him about it, but in a way it was also nice to know that when you did pass away things were already taken care of.

Walking away from Amber felt wrong at that moment, but her body already started to cool and soon rigor mortis was to set in and Wilson was not strong enough to stay there. Besides, the hospital had its own policies regarding dead people and Wilson didn't want to be around when they showed up.

His thoughts soon turned to House, as they tended to do whenever he didn't have anything else to occupy his mind with. He knew House would be in the ICU, still recovering from the deep brain stimulation.

It wasn't until he stumbled to the darkened corridor that other thoughts started clogging up his mind. Endless emotions bombarded him and he couldn't make out a single one - it was all _too much_.

The room wasn't as dark as his emotions felt, and he wasn't sure if he was glad for it or not. The bustle outside the room was like a dull noise - years of working in a hospital rendering them almost soothing. He could hear all the beeps and clicks coming from the machines House was hooked up to and they soothed him too.

Cuddy was curled up on a soft chair, legs tucked close against her. Wilson envied her at the moment. He wished he could have been with House too, wished he could have supported him and been by his side while he recovered from surgery. The fact that it was Wilson who put him through it was not lost on him, but the feeling was still there. It _ached_. For so long he was the one at House's bedside, with House while he recovered from one mishap or another and to see his place filled by another left him feeling lonelier now that Amber was gone.

Her death permeated his psyche as he stood and stared at House. He wasn't sure how long he was standing there, but he took the time to come to terms with the fact that Amber was indeed _dead_. It hurt still, like an ache he wasn't sure would ever leave. Yet as he stood by and watched House's lungs contract with air he felt that at least his friend was still here.

He tried to make sense of the time, unsure of its passing. It felt like he had been standing there staring at House for only a moment before the diagnostician opened his eyes and yet he knew he had been there for much longer.

Wilson stared at those watery blue eyes. He couldn't tell what House was feeling at the moment, more used to games and manipulations than reading minds. House's eyes looked lost, afraid, and resigned. Wilson wasn't sure what was reflected on his own face, but he did let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

It was good to see something physical that proved House was on the road to recovery. When he had been with Amber he could do nothing but think of her and only her, about how he was going to be alone with her gone. Now as he was standing in this room with House he felt the empty spaces within himself begin to fill again.

The feeling was odd, yet recognizable. Although Amber left a bigger impact in Wilson's life than any of his previous relationships, including his wives, it seemed that the gaps within himself were still easily filled by simply being with House. He was too tired to analyze that too closely and instead willed his feet to move closer to his friends' bedside. Part of him wanted to run away, to get away from this hospital that housed Amber's dead body, but another part of him could not leave House - that part yearned to cling to something like normalcy. So he put one foot forward and then another, his gait much more like a shuffle than actual walking. He felt worn down, aching and tired by the time he made it to House's empty side away from Cuddy.

He suddenly didn't want her here - didn't want her here near his grief, near his friend, taking up the space that should be his. He felt resentment, but it wasn't strong enough to kick her out of the room without House's permission. Wilson had never been one to deny House much of anything, especially if it was something that would help his friend in some way.

He made it all the way to House's side without either of them saying anything. Wilson wasn't even sure if House could speak at the moment and that made something even more painful twist in his chest.

"Do you want her here?" Wilson asked softly, his voice pitched low as to not awaken Cuddy. The words felt weird coming out of his throat, as if they were scraped out and worn from lack of use.

House eyed him, ran his sight all over Wilson's face and something on there must have made up his mind. He glanced over to Cuddy for a moment, no doubt taking in her rumpled clothes and tired face, before glancing back at Wilson. With clearer eyes than before House shook his head lightly.

"Should I ask her to go then?" asked Wilson, giving House another chance to keep Cuddy here if House really wanted to. He wasn't about to make anything worse for his friend and wanted House to make the choice himself.

Once again House roved his clear eyes over Wilson's face, focusing that laser view into Wilson's own red-rimmed eyes and then nodded. Wilson nodded back and then walked around the hospital bed.

He stared down at Cuddy, trying to muster some kind of positive emotion. He was glad that she had been here when he couldn't, mostly because he wouldn't have wanted House to be alone, but now that he was here her presence was no longer necessary. This meeting with House was going to be hard enough without her hovering around. He could feel House's stare boring into every movement he made. He was used to the weight of that stare and carried it quite easily. Wilson knew that not many others felt the same way - they felt bare and stripped down and it was slightly terrifying. Wilson felt like that on occasion too, but mostly it made him feel safe and _seen._

Wilson rubbed his hands over his face and ran his fingers through his hair in order to wipe away any visual representation of his grief. There was nothing he could do to make his eyes seem less bleary but he hoped the low light of the room could hide that away. He reached out with one heavy hand and placed it on Cuddy's shoulder. When she didn't wake immediately he shook her lightly. He didn't really want to talk to her, wished she could just look at him and know what he wanted like House did, but he knew that wasn't going to be the case. He steeled himself knowing that her feelings and responsibility for House would make her want to stay in the room. She always had that weird fascination with House; their past was riddled with affection and snark. Wilson wasn't completely privy to the complete truth - House never disclosed it and Cuddy never offered it.

The small shake seemed to do the trick. Cuddy snuffled lightly, her hand coming up to rub the sleep from her eyes as she slowly uncurled from the chair. Wilson had already taken a few steps back once she stirred.

It took her a moment to regain her bearings and she immediately zeroed in on House, probably expecting some sort of complication with his recovery. Seeing House perfectly fine calmed her and she let out a soft breath of air.

"Wilson?" she questioned, her voice raspy with sleep.

"I got it from here, Cuddy," Wilson intoned, his voice deep and collected.

"What? I mean, are you okay - do you...do you want to talk?" she asked, fumbling through her words. Wilson inwardly flinched. The question was not unexpected, but it hurt all the same. The rawness he had felt at Amber's deathbed scraped against him anew and the wounds he had managed to plaster and ignore were forced open again.

"I can look after House, Cuddy. You should go home and get some rest. You have a hospital to run after all," Wilson said, completely bypassing Cuddy's stumbled question and bringing her responsibilities to the forefront.

As he guessed, she was going to fight him on this.

"Wilson, you should go home. You've had a long couple of days. I can look after House," Cuddy implored, now standing between House and Wilson, her arms up as if she was either about to hug him or push him out the door, neither of which Wilson was about to allow her.

"House wants you to leave for now, Cuddy. You can visit him some other time," Wilson said, his voice more stern. He was starting to lose his grip, he could feel it and his eyes immediately sought out House, imploring the man to do something, _anything_ to make this go quicker.

"You can't be serious," Cuddy muttered out. She sounded both hurt and disbelieving and she whirled around to look at House in order to refute Wilson's words.

"Go," rasped out House as he stared at Cuddy with clear blue eyes. That one word seemed to seep almost all his energy, his eyes falling half-mast as he struggled to stay awake.

"It's fine, I'll look after him," said Wilson, now that House was on his side he was able to raise his shields back up. Cuddy looked heartbroken, but resolute.

"Fine, but call me if you need anything - either of you," she tacked on. She shoved her feet into her shoes and walked toward the ICU exit. "I hope you know what you're doing," she muttered. Wilson wasn't sure if he was meant to hear the words, but they stung nonetheless. Once he was sure he heard her heels click down the hallway he moved to the ICU window and closed the blinds, giving them some privacy.

"That okay?" he asked House. House did nothing but stare for a moment as he processed the words and then soundlessly nodded. Wilson let out a small sigh and moved to the chair Cuddy had previously occupied. He dragged the opulent piece of furniture closer than Cuddy had it originally and made it line up almost against House's hospital bed. He could see that House was losing consciousness again and that worked just fine for him. He didn't need, or rather want, House awake for the moment.

Sometimes a man just needs to be alone with his thoughts and self-recriminations.

House's bleary stare tapered off and his eyes closed and Wilson waited a beat of his heart before he grasped his friends' hand with his own, fingers curling tightly and desperately around the limp limb.

His thoughts came back to him unbidden then. Snippets of time, conversations, and feelings swirled his mind and he had to force himself to choke back a sob.

He had lost Amber, had known he was going to lose her with or without a diagnosis. No matter what was debilitating her rehabilitation it was already past the point of no return. Intellectually Wilson had known this. Everyone on House's team had known this, including House himself.

Yet still he asked the most brutal thing he could ask of his friend.

House valued his intellect more than anything.

Constant drug abuse, manipulative procedures, harder opiates - House had tried anything and everything to decrease the chronic pain in his leg. Yet when something started to work but his mind faltered in one way or another, he immediately stopped all treatment if it meant he could retain his intellect and way of thinking.

House classified himself with how he could think, how he could solve puzzles and people, how he could take a look at something and leap to a conclusion that left people scratching their heads. After his infarction, after Stacy, House began to believe he had nothing else left in his life, nothing else that he or others would want. So he clung to it, like a dog with a bone - growling and snarling at anyone or anything that came near to take it away from him.

Wilson knew, he _knew_ that intrinsic part of House. Knew how House struggled with his pain, knew how House only cared about his mind and its ability to think and yet he still asked.

He had asked House to put his very _being -_ the thing that made him _House_ \- on the line on the off chance that he could get some resolution for Amber.

Amber whom he loved, and yet had only known less than a year.

Amber who reminded him so much of House that it attracted him to her.

Over ten years of friendship and Wilson chose a woman whom he felt he loved.

And he did love her - truly he did. Yet a small, intrusive thought always lingered in his mind.

_Didn't he love all of them?_

Sam, Bonnie, Julie, and Grace - endless wives and girlfriends and flings. And Amber.

He hated that thought. Hated that he could lump Amber, whose death was still so raw on his heart, in with those of his past. The women who he had always loved, claimed to love, maybe loved?

House's words from a few years back rang through his head.

_I'm sorry. I know you love your wife. You've loved all your wives. Probably still do. In fact, you probably love all the women you loved who weren't your wife._

And that is what made the thought of his betrayal all the more bitter. Because whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not at the moment, House was probably _right_.

He had a feeling, or rather a premonition, that with time he would get over Amber - would be able to think of her and reflect on their more happier memories instead of her death. If House retained any damage from the deep brain stimulation then it was for life - it was something that both House and Wilson would have to live with for the rest of their days. Therein lied the crux of the matter. He could not live with himself if he was the cause of House's deterioration.

House's mind was House himself and if he came out of this room damaged there was no one at fault except Wilson.

Wilson felt guilt well up in him so deeply that it almost choked the air right out of his lungs. He could feel tears welling in his eyes once more and this time they fell for him and for House. How could House stand to stare at him after what he put him through? How could he manipulate House's feelings, twist and turn them so thoroughly and make House believe that he had to atone with his mind? He wanted to blame House for Amber's death. It was so easy to do, to throw the blame in that direction. When he looked at House's team he could see that same blame in their eyes at times, always hovering and left unsaid.

Wilson didn't blame House though. _Couldn't_.

It wasn't any one's fault aside from freak circumstances. House had been drinking alone at a bar, something he hadn't done since Stacy left the second time. Wilson had known then, had been the one to pick him up and put him to bed. However, House was drinking _because_ of Wilson this time. It sounded self-centered to think about it that way but it was true and they both knew it but didn't acknowledge it. House probably started feeling left behind while Wilson was in a stable, and for once sustainable, relationship. The road of inevitability stretched out before them - Wilson and Amber would continue to date, Amber and House would snipe and try to undermine one another, and then Wilson would get married to someone that was so like his best friend that the marriage would finally stick this time and House would be left wading alone in the shallow shores that were once their friendship.

Wilson could claim over and over that nothing would change, that he would still be there for House if he and Amber got married, but for once Wilson could accept that with Amber that would not be the case and House knew it too.

And so the circle went and it deposited House in that bar with those self-destructive and maudlin thoughts. House had called him to pick him up, forgetting Wilson had been on-call at the hospital that night. House wanted Wilson to come get him, to have some normalcy still in their friendship where Wilson would leave his current girlfriend, no matter what they were doing, leave everything at the drop of a hat, and go pick up House simply because House needed him.  
  
It was both a test of their friendship as well as genuine want and need for Wilson to pick him up. But it hadn't been Wilson, it had been Amber and everything from that point on had shifted in the universe. No longer were the stars aligned, no longer did the Earth spin - the way things were had been shifted and were unbalanced.

When Amber showed up the new paths in all their futures opened up and were forged and soon the possibility of losing Wilson had been cemented in fact. That had been why House chose to take the bus instead of the offered ride. House had needed a moment to regain his barriers, to lick his wounds of his inevitable loss of friendship and to simply _get away_.

The bus crash was set in motion and only House should have been on it, but since the world no longer made sense - since the future stemmed in a new and different way than those before - Amber had been on the bus too.

Wilson could see it all so perfectly. House's stuttered words and drawn out explanations had been able to fill the gaps in Wilson's mind. The story was laid out for him to read and it was _no one's fault_. It just was what it was.

Wilson took in a shuddering breath. The thought of even blaming _himself_ for the crash, and subsequently Amber's death, had entered his mind at one point.

He had blamed himself for House's reckless behavior and phone call. He had always enabled House's games, the binges, the middle-of-the-night phone calls that had Wilson rushing to his side to help in any way he could. He had wanted to take on the blame for Amber's death but he knew it wasn't his burden to bear. Wilson and House had always been the way they were and there was no reason why _now_ it suddenly wasn't right. It had always worked for them, had never truly been an issue and he could not find it in himself to take on the burden of blame. He _wouldn't_. It was no one's fault.

With those thoughts swirling in his head Wilson could only cling tighter to House's hand and silently weep. He wasn't sure what the tears were for any more. All his feelings swirled inside - meshed and twisted and turned and it was hard to pick apart one emotion from the rest.

_Hurt. Anger. Pain. Guilt. Relief._ They were all there with a number of others and he couldn't settle. Instead he let them flow out of him from his eyes and onto House's hand. He was glad House was asleep or at least tired enough to not see him this way. His chest ached with the pent up emotion and the need to cry more and more.

He hoped House didn't hate him after this. House had every right to do so. House had done everything and more to help Wilson during this difficult time. He had put his very life on the line and that spoke of a love so deep that Wilson could hardly wrap his mind around it.

House had gone through a series of traumatic situations for days now - the bus crash, the memory loss, the discovery about the bus driver, several seizures, brain bleed and a heart attack to top it all. And after all of that he still underwent a highly intrusive and dangerous, even life-threatening, procedure simply because Wilson had _asked_.

The guilt ate away at him again, the near loss of his best friend filling his mind with all the worst-possible scenarios. Wilson wasn't sure what was even holding him together at this moment. If he thought that losing Danny, losing all contact with his brother over a single _phone call_ was scary then almost losing House was simply terrifying.

Danny was a scabbed-over hurt. He remembered the 18 years he spent with Danny, yet by this point he probably knew House better than he had ever known his brother. Danny was a stranger in his mind - a shadow of the person he was and the person he ached to know, but still a stranger nonetheless. The pain of Danny wasn't as bright or searing as the pain he felt when he thought of House.

He clenched his fingers, tightening his hold of House's hand and breathed deeply.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm - " whispered Wilson fervently with a choked sob. "I'm so _fucking_ sorry."

His breath hitched again and he forced the words out. If he kept them in any longer he was sure they would poison him.

"I should never have asked that of you, should never have even _thought_ it," Wilson hissed out, his eyes clenched tightly shut, both his hands now gripping House. "I'm such a shitty friend - I can't believe I asked you to do that, and that you _did_. How could you? Do you know what that procedure could have done to you?!" Wilson bit out angrily. "You need to take care of yourself House, even if it's from me. I can't lose you too." Wilson took a moment to regain his breathing, the tears fell from his eyes silently and without thought. It wasn't until a tear fell on his hand that he realized he had been crying at all.

"Please don't hate me..."

Suddenly he felt something touching his hair and he lifted his head up only to stare directly into House's wide, pain-filled eyes.

"Hey," House rasped out, voice scraping over his vocal cords. "That's my line."

And Wilson could not stop the utter relief he felt at those words. It was forgiveness and absolution and a balm on his soul. With those words he knew that he and House would be fine. Maybe not today, or even for a while, but eventually they would and despite the utter ache of losing Amber, Wilson knew that having House with him would lessen the pain.

He let out a shaky smile in reply. "Sorry, you know how I sometimes get me and you confused," Wilson quipped lightly, his eyes still teary and sad.

House gave him a pained smile in return. "I'm the hot one," he replied, voice still raw.

"Keep telling yourself that, House," easily replied Wilson. A moment of peace washed up within him. He closed his eyes briefly, took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He willed his pain away, tucked away the tears that gathered in his eyes and stared at House once more. "You should get some more rest," Wilson continued to say. "Just looking at you hurts."

House stared at him, his blue eyes moved all over his face, cataloging and reading Wilson like he always did.

"I'm sorry too," House said and then slid his eyes close, the conversation draining him more than he realized.

It took Wilson a moment to deduce that House had probably been awake during his entire freak-out and self-recrimination and a pang of annoyed fondness unfurled in his chest. The familiarity of it made him feel like he could actually get through this after all. It felt like a start.  
  
 **end.**

**Author's Note:**

> I've been watching and re-watching House MD for a while now and am utterly in love with the show and characters. I'm starting to delve into the fandom and have loved many fanfics, even delving into DW and old LJ accounts to read up on a fandom I joined 8 years late haha
> 
> I have many more ideas for House and Wilson and hope i can actually get them done :)


End file.
